


Treasures

by Jackyrackem



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bloodplay, F/M, Knives, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:58:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10978083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackyrackem/pseuds/Jackyrackem
Summary: Ivar and Eira, friends born in battle, with some competition between them; and more than friendly feelings are making an appearance.





	1. The Contest

**Author's Note:**

> So I have never tried writing before but all of this wonderful fanfic I've been reading has inspired me. Bear with me, and what will probably be some pretty bad writing. :D

Swing. Pull. Step. Lean. Swing, turn, block, swing again. Eira was in her element. The battle had started at dawn, and was raging still, after what felt like hours had passed. Her senses were heightened, and seemed to soar around her, picking up everything; the deafening clang of weaponry, the groans of pain and screams of victory, the smell of blood, shit, and fear; the colors of her enemy, and the heft of her axes in her hand, almost guiding her movements in battle. Suddenly the hair on the back of Eira's neck stood up, and she turned and took a knee as an enemy sword rang through the air. Her hand swung one axe to deflect the blow, and the second to sever the hand from the wrist. A final swing, and the man stopped screaming. She pulled her axe out of his head, and moved on. As she made her way across the battlefield, her sensitive hearing picked up the familiar huff of a warhorse. She turned to her left and attacked the man coming forward, before moving to the right and smirking at the sight next to her. Ivar Ragnarsson was in his chariot, his favorite horse pawing at the ground excitedly. This horse, specially chosen by Floki, was used to the sounds of battle and death, and had no problems pulling the chariot over any bodies before him. A fitting companion for his master, Ivar the Boneless. Eira and Ivar had become fast friends after watching each other destroy enemies in battle, and liked each other best when covered in someone's blood. Smiling up at him, Eira winked before yelling, "The foes that fall under your beast's hooves do not count as YOUR kill, Oh Crippled One!". Ivar's face split in to a bloody grin, and Eira felt the familiar rustle of butterflies that she constantly pushed down whenever he looked at her like that.  
"I've no need to steal kills from my horse to beat YOUR score, Lady Shrew!" Ivar retorted. It was a game that they played since their first battle, after they had defeated an enemy together. Between the two of them, the warrior with the most kills at the end of the day was declared the winner, and as such was offered a gift from the loser. Suddenly, his eyes flicked past her and his smile turned deadly. Knowing what he must see, Eira turned and sunk one of her weapons through the nose of saxon warrior that was rushing up to her. As the life left his eyes, she felt his warm blood drip down her face and neck. Slowly she turned to look at Ivar, shit-eating grin in place, when his face stopped her. He was glaring at her as if she had stolen his sweet roll; but as soon as the look was there, it was gone, replaced by one she recognized; his look of pride. She knew that the battle was almost over, a crushing defeat for the enemy. Ivar and his brothers had planned this battle, destroying almost half of the forces before the rest of their army was sent in to finish the job. She would be sore tonight, but drinking mead with Ivar and his brothers while sharing stories of the best kills was one of her favorite things about battle. Eira, determined to win today's contest, quickly moved on, unaware that Ivar's eyes followed her as she made her way deeper in to the field. 

Ivar shook his head. He had met Eira moons and moons ago, and at first, thought of her as a normal shield maiden. He was quickly corrected, as she and both of her axes saved him more than once in battle. They moved together, seeming to understand what the other was planning to do in the heat of the fighting; it was rare to see them farther than a shout apart. What Eira didn't know was that since that first battle, and in every game she liked to play afterwards, he gained more and more respect for her, until she became closer to him than his own brothers. He lived for the nights when they would tell stories about their kills, constantly seeing her as she was in any battle; covered in blood, raging like one of Floki's favored goddesses. Raining destruction on those she fought, whether in training or in battle, killing seemed to feed her soul, the same way it calmed his own. Her fiery red hair, cut on the sides and tied back like his, made him think of a waterfall of blood, the perfect crown for a goddess of war. Ivar was entranced by her every move, full of grace and strength, with a will of iron. He would never tell her any of his feelings, hiding them the way he would try to hide his bare legs. His growing feelings for her were a source of weakness, a weakness that could be used to keep him from his destiny. So he continued pretending, but it became harder and harder to hide his glances. She had not noticed them yet, but his brothers had. Sigurd, especially, loved to taunt him when she was not around. Ivar chuckled to himself; no way would Sigurd risk her wrath by teasing him in her presence; one lesson from Eira was all it took to teach Sigurd that she tolerated no mistreatment of any of her friends-even from a prince. He shook his head once more to clear it of the thoughts of his secret obsession; He knew he had already lost their game today, and he had a gift for Eira that he had been waiting to give her. 

Eira rubbed the wet cloth over her face. Today was a good battle, owed largely in part to all of Ragnarssons' brilliant war planning. They had not lost many fighters to the Valkyrie's call, but each death was honored, each warrior gone was wished a swift journey to Valhalla, and the table of the Gods. She pulled her wet hair back in to its usual leather ties, and slipped her tunic back over her bare chest. Standing up, she stretched her body, sore muscles calling out for a warm bath and a good night's rest. But that would come later. She made her way to the fireside, grabbing a mead horn from a passing slave, draining it in one gulp and searching for more. Looking across the main fire, she saw Ivar staring at her with that strange look on his face again. She called out to him, and Ubbe moved so she might sit. He knew their game as well, and wanted to hear if she bested his brother on this day.  
"Forty-four saxons died by my axes today. What is your count, chariot-rider?"

Ivar knew he had to stop staring. Eira had actually caught him, again, as he had watched her move gracefully to the fire. He knew what was coming, it had become a ritual to them. He layed his hand on top of the cloth wrapped items to his right, and emptied his cup. His heart was racing, a strange feeling when it happened outside of war. He knew she would love what he had made for her, and it was his secret that his literal blood and sweat had gone in to the making of her gifts. A part of him that would be held by her, used by her, used to kill and maim, and used to save and protect as well. He dropped his head and screwed on his mask of cockiness, before glancing at her and smirking.  
"Forty-four saxons on your own? I would double those numbers if I had legs that functioned, woman." Eira stuck her tongue out at him before saying,"Ah well what is your count then?" Ivar played along with her game, allowing his affection for her to spread throughout his body like the mead they were drinking, before shutting it down and feigning anger. "My plans killed half the army before you got there, I should win." "How many saxons did you kill by your own sword and axe, by your own hands, Cripple?" Ivar would go to Valhalla before admitting that he liked it when she called him that, and he allowed no one else the privilege. Her pet names for him that involved the word cripple made him proud, knowing she had no fear of him and his famous rage, and knowing that she did not see it as a deficit, but as a shield he used- because those that saw his legs as a weakness underestimated him, and that made for all kinds of fun when it came to fighting, whether physical or mental.  
"My count was forty." He rolled his eyes as she whooped, eventually giving in and laughing with her as she received congratulations from those around her. He took a deep breath while she was distracted, licked his lips, and threw his wrapped gift in her lap after she had regained her seat. The smile instantly left her face, replaced by a look of wonder. She could tell, even before she unwrapped the items, what they were. Axes. a pair of axes, sharpened to a razor edge. He had tested them himself. She picked up each one in turn, staring at it, her face unreadable. He waited for her to complain about their weight or length, or the runes carved in to the handles. His mouth dropped open when he saw tears fill her eyes as she turned to him. "Ivar...these are glorious. I dont-i cant-Who made these??" She stood up and hefted them in her hands, swinging them around, getting used to their feel and weight. He envisioned her splitting the skulls of their enemies, with her look of rage; Eyes wide and bright, teeth bared like the great wolves of the forest. "You won today's battle, and I had them lying around." He released the breath he had held; she liked them.

Eira was lost. She had a few axes that she loved to take in to battle; they were trustworthy tools and she only used the best. But these were better than any axe she had ever laid hands on. She imagined herself in the next battle, swinging them around, hacking and slicing. She was sure to win the next contest with axes such as these. Floki must have bartered them from the Gods themselves, so fine was the workmanship. The handles were tinged with red and carved with runes meant to protect their bearer in war. She looked at Ivar and could not find the words to thank him for such a wonderful gift. "You won today's battle, and I had them lying around." he said. Her heart fell slightly, hoping for a moment that he had had them made only for her hands. But no matter. She recovered, and began to swing the axes around again, then running her hands along the blade, slicing her fingers on their edge to give them her blood, a hint of her life force, that they might serve her well. She placed them in her belt, and it felt like they were made for it. She sat down next to Ivar, waiting for him to look at her. When he did, she stared directly in to his eyes, seeing an equal, seeing a friend, and seeing something more. She would never tell him how she felt, because she knew he saw feelings such as those a weakness, and she would never want to see him lose respect for her. She smiled as widely as she could, and thanked him, loud enough for him to hear, but low enough that he was the ONLY one that could hear. "Thank you, Ivar. I will carry these in to battle proudly." Eira looked away, and put her hands on her axes once more, before emptying her cup again, and asking him about his best kill on that day.


	2. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lack of a good battle has Eira and Ivar at each other's throats...but boredom is not the only reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still kind of all over the place in regards to perspective, and not much story progress. But Im more comfortable letting the story flow and not re-reading every sentence immediately after i type it.

Eira and Ivar had both been waiting for a good battle for weeks. Their last contest, in which Eira earned her axes, was almost lost to their memory. Almost. Eira still practiced with her axes almost daily, fondly thinking of Ivar each time she wrapped her fingers around their handles. She put them in her belt after she awoke, and placed them next to her in the bed every night before she fell asleep. In her mind, they were the closest she would get to her dream of being one with Ivar, in life and in love. She was in no position to marry him, and felt she was in an even worse one to love him. Ivar, and his raging emotions, needed someone with a calm head and no anger. He needed someone to cater to his varying whims, and Eira was not that woman. On more than one occasion, she had gotten in to a shouting match with the prince, screaming in his face as his angry blue eyes turned the color of a raging sea. He would affix her with a stare that usually frightened even grown males, and all it did was turn her on. She sighed as she finished her breakfast, trying to clear the image of Ivar and his anger from her head. She headed to the practice yard, itching to work out all the built up energy she felt from her secret thoughts. The sun was shining, and the morning breeze was biting, but not unpleasantly. Her eyes searched the yard, looking for a capable opponent, when she saw him. A smirk lit up her face. Beating Ivar in training, in front of his men, was a sure fire way to raise some friction between them. She shouted his name, and spun her axes when he turned to answer her. A tilt of her head issued her challenge, and with a nod, he crawled over to meet her. 

Ivar was discussing events of the previous night with the watch commander, disappointed that no new information was forthcoming about enemy troops. He ordered another scouting mission, and then heard a familiar shout of his name. Gods, the woman could wake the dead with that loud voice of hers...which brought to mind how badly he wished he could make her shout on his own. He turned to look at his best friend, the only one who could talk any type of sense in to him when he was willing to listen, and the only one who could yell through his anger when he didnt WANT to listen. She swung her axes and cocked her head, a silent invitation to practice with him. He nodded and began to crawl over to her, already envisioning knocking her smug face in to the mud. A defeat, even at Ivar's hands, was still a defeat in her eyes. It should provide good fodder for a disagreement later on. He loved to see her enraged, fully experiencing her emotions, instead of hiding them like most of the insipid maids that lived in Kattegat. She broke in to a smile that warmed him entirely, right before she swung both of her axes directly at his head. He felt the thrill of the fight, ducking and rolling, then attempting to knock her in the dirt. She was ready for it, having fought him before, and danced backwards, flashing him an evil grin. 

Fighting with Ivar was going to be the highlight of her day. They fought together in battle, and would practice together on their off days, when Ivar was not busy with his brothers and the war council. She knew his mind and his moves, and could counter them with ease. He characteristically went for her ankles, knowing she rolled them both one night after having too much mead. She was watching him with Margarethe, and decided that that disgusting display of simpering idiocy on the slave's part was too much to handle. Thinking back on that night fueled her, and she began to take it out on Ivar. She jumped forward, feigning an attack, and dodged to the side as he attempted to parry the blow he thought was coming. She rapped his ribs with the back of her axe, then twisted to bring her foot into his side. He grunted in pain and lashed out, swinging sword at her thighs. He hit the outer edge of her right leg, numbing it almost immediately. She went down on her knee, providing the perfect target. Ivar lunged forward, trying to wrestle her to the ground, in to a submission, but she squirmed out of it, losing both of her axes in the process. She rolled away, scrambling to regain her footing. There! She spotted her axes lying on the ground about a yard away; and between them and her, there was a prince, getting angrier by the second. She grinned at him and then ran, knowing she would never get her axes and get away again. He snagged her ankle, wrenching it. She was used to pain, even enjoying it in some settings, so this did not faze her. She kicked back, not looking, and placed her hands on her deadly gifts. 

"BITCH!" Ivar screamed at her. He sat up, rubbing his face, and then spit two of his teeth in his hand. He watched Eira turn and look at him, and at that moment he was not sure if he wanted to kill her, or marry her. She had placed a solid kick right in to his jaw, and had him seeing stars. "This is PRACTICE, Eira!" She glared at him and retorted, "It's not my fault you weren't paying attention, cripple! Did you expect me to take it easy on you because I'm a maiden, and not a man?" He ground his teeth, causing shooting pain to reverberate through his skull. He could not agree with her, he knew she was right. He was more focused on the ass he saw in front of him, than he was on the fight. "Control your freakishly large feet, woman! If you could fight PROPERLY, you wouldn't need to kick like a mule!" He saw the murderous rage enter her eyes, and he had never been so glad to lose teeth before. She stood up fully and he could see her knuckles turn white with her grip. Ivar knew that she was one of the most skilled fighters they had, and he would choose no other to go side by side in to battle with. "You're just upset that I caught you off guard, Ivar. So you're going to want to stop screaming at me, before you lose MORE of your precious teeth, pretty one." His heart jumped at her compliment, but he quickly tamped it down, knowing he must hold on to his anger. "You didn't catch me off guard, woman. I was worried about greater matters than a play fight in the dirt. Something I guess you would not understand." Her cry of rage spiked his lust, and he welcomed her onslaught. They continued to fight, slinging insults at one another, until neither could remain standing. Laying in the dirt together, he reached over and touched her hand. She flinched at the contact, and he withdrew his fingers immediately. "Oh so you're still alive, then?" he asked. She panted, and managed to answer him with a grunt. "Let us retire to the fire. We need food to continue this fight. Unless you're willing to admit defeat?" He heard her roll over, and smiled to himself when she answered, "Not on your life, cripple."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive feedback is still welcomed and encouraged!! Don't know if I should keep going, so let me know if you guys like it.


	3. Unfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eira and Ivar spend the night drinking, problems ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> google provided some icelandic endearments that i liked.
> 
> Elskan mìn-my love; my darling

Eira and Ivar made their way to the main fire after their day of practice. They were both sore, but somewhat satisfied. After they had taken a meal and rested for a bit, they had gone back to fighting one another. Eira had lost her weapons again, and ended up rolling around in the dirt with Ivar. She was not the best at ground fighting, preferring to use axes. It showed when Ivar had managed to grab her arm and tried to force a submission. Eira was not the type to submit, usually, and so she ended up with a dislocated shoulder. That earned Ivar a kick to the gut with both of her feet. After fixing her own shoulder, she had wrapped it tightly with linen, and they both quit the field. The night was dark, and the warmth and light of the fire called to them both. Eira could smell the crisp scent of fall in the air and inhaled deeply, willing her body to relax.  
Ivar crawled alongside Eira, thinking back to the events of earlier. He had managed to disarm her once again, and his heart thrilled when they ended up on the ground, bodies pressing close together, but both struggling to gain the upper hand. The friction of their fight had made certain things difficult to hide, so Ivar had tried to end the fight. Eira knew about some of his preferences, having seen him during war, and during sacrifices as well. She never seemed to judge him for it, but that made him want to open up to her even more, sure that some part of him would disgust her, in turn giving him a reason to stop feeling as he did for her. Damn the woman. She held her perfection in front of him, dangling it unwittingly, always out of reach for him, he thought. She was perfectly content with who she was, and that alone was appealing. What made it better, was that who she was, was a fiery animal of rage and happiness in turns. . A Valkyrie strode next to him, and though he was a god compared to others, he dared not risk what they had. He was unable to imagine a day without this bitch, driving him crazy with lust, love, and irritation, all at the same time.  
Eira was ready to drink. Her shoulder was paining her, and though it came during battle, feeling the ache during the rest of her mundane day had put her in a terrible mood. Eira heard Ivar crawling next to her, mumbling to himself. He did that quite often, and Eira knew it was how he worked through his thoughts when they overcrowded his mind. Her shoulder momentarily drowned out by images of Ivar, Eira smiled to herself. Having his hands all over her today had struck up a mighty desire to feel them there without the barrier of clothes, wondering what his arms and fingers could do to a woman. She had gladly quit the fight, the ache between her legs proving just as uncomfortable as her injured shoulder. It had been quite some time since Eira had taken a man; her proclivities were of an unusual nature, and most men she tried to bed found it odd and did not want to fully participate. The rest found it slightly horrifying. The only reason word about her bedding style had not passed through the army like a wildfire was that the men she fucked were terrified of fighting her. She needed to find a partner that was not afraid of her, and could prove a challenge. She had varying moods; sometimes she wanted to tease and control her mate, providing pain and then pleasure in turn. Other nights, she wished to lose control completely. Sadly, none of her previous partners had been strong enough, mentally, to overcome her insults and make her submit to them. She looked down at the man crawling beside her, and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like with him. The ache between her legs intensified as she imagined his body between her thighs, his broad chest and arms moving over her, watching his muscles flex as he pounded in to her over and over again. Fuck. She could feel her entire core throbbing, pulsing, needing relief. Eira scowled, in that moment hating that she was no longer interested in other men. The one she wanted was in the dirt next to her, unknowingly teasing her constantly with his sharp mind, his iron will, and his attractive face. Her frown deepened and her pace quickened. She needed to get drunk enough to pass out, and hope that her need, and her wetness, would be gone in the morning.  
As they sat down at the fireside, Ivar glanced at Eira. Her entire face was an angry glare, and he had wondered if perhaps she wanted to drink alone tonight. She might still be upset with him for wrenching her shoulder so roughly. He did not feel sorry for it, but he wished she would just let her anger out, and then things could go back to normal. Ivar motioned to a passing thrall to bring them mead. The girl looked at him, nodded, and walked towards a table that held a pitcher and cups. She walked to Ivar, and he watched as she swayed her hips on the way to him. He took the cups and held them out for the her to fill from the pitcher, and felt as she held his hand steady while he poured. He saw Eira turn to look at him, and then her eyes went down to his hand, where the slave's fingers were lingering. He watched as Eira gritted her teeth, seeing her jaw muscle flex as she squinted at his wrist. She said nothing, but snatched one of the cups from him, downing it in one gulp. Ivar swallowed; as she drank the mead she had tilted her head back, giving him a view of her long, strong neck. A neck he itched to wrap one hand around as he took her from behind. He almost lost his grip on his cup, feeling his cock harden almost immediately at the thought. Maybe...the way the slave was looking at him, she might be able to relieve this pressure he was beginning to feel. He wished with all his heart, and cock, that it would be Eira to do it, but surely she did not feel that way about him. He stared at the slave and licked his lips, imagining her to be Eira, waiting on him and submitting to him, until she decided to turn the tables. He continued with his fantasy, a deep hunger showing in his eyes as he continued to stare. He was broken out of his trance when he heard Eira mumble something that sounded like,"...fucking slaves." He nodded at the slave to refill Eira's cup, and he raised a confused eyebrow as Eira snatched the pitcher from the slave and pushed her away, giving her a look that would frighten most men. As the slave walked off, Ivar turned to Eira and said,"Why did you do that?" He waited as she finished off her second cup of mead. He knew she was no lightweight, and so he waited. She would make her feelings known soon enough, never able to hide them for long.  
Eira downed her second cup of mead. Why was she touching him? Why was he letting her? Why did he look at her that way, but not me? Eira knew he would need someone passive to be with, and she hated him for wanting that. She thought he admired her strength and passion, but apparently she was mistaken. Now Eira was frustrated, still wet, still craving Ivar's prick, and hurt. She grabbed the pitcher she had taken from the slave, and filled her cup again. She was just starting to feel a blush in her stomach that lessened the ache in her shoulder. But it only exacerbated the dark thoughts running through her head; thoughts of Ivar underneath her as she rode him, squeezing her thighs on his sides as he caressed her ass and breasts; but also thoughts of killing that slave for looking at her Ivar. Wait, what? Her Ivar. She wished that is what he could be to her, but she was just a shield maiden and he was a Prince of Kattegat. A Prince of Kattegat laying beneath me, blue eyes focused on me, as I hold the knife against his chest, drawing it down to mark him over his heart, which should be mine. Blood running down his body, only to be lapped up by my tongue. Watching him cut me above my heart, and seeing my blood licked away by him. Eira came out of her trance and noticed she was rubbing her legs together. Judging by how wet her pussy was, she had been doing it for a while. She looked to Ivar, anger momentarily forgotten, to see him motioning to that slave that should have been scared away. Her anger returned full force, as she watched him stare, licking his lips and then biting the bottom one. She was bringing another pitcher over. Rhona looked down and saw that she had finished the one from earlier, and her vision rolled when she stood up. She was drunk now, and there was no going back. She stalked up to the slave girl and grabbed her by the arm, steering her back to the table. "Set it down." Eira almost laughed as the slave did as she was told, but instinctively grabbed one of her axes as the girl tried glaring at her. She kicked the girls feet out from under her and pushed her down. Eira grabbed the slave by the neck and began squeezing. She brought her axe up to the girls face and said,"You will walk away from the fire and not return this night. If anyone needs you, you tell them that I have sent you away to go polish someone else's sword. This one is not yours to test." She pressed the blade of her axe against the girls face, cutting it and causing blood to fall. This only served to heighten her rage more, the need for some type of relief now a constant thought in her mind. As the girl ran away, Eira stood up and put her axe back where it belonged. Ivar's axe. Only fitting that it be used to protect what Eira wanted. She grabbed the pitcher and moved back to the fire.  
Ivar watched the scene unfold and wondered what had put Eira in such a bloodthirsty mood. He loved seeing her this way, but it was usually reserved for him, or for battle. He did not understand what she had against the slave, and was angered as it dawned on him that Eira had just scared away his only chance for bedding someone tonight. As Eira came back to the fire, pitcher in hand, her foot grazed his shoulder when she stepped over the log to sit down. She was still glaring, but there was a strange look present as well, almost like desire. He watched as the light of the fire danced over her face, turning her hair into a flame as well. All of this, combined with the sight of her earlier brutality with the slave, had his cock twitching in his pants. He frowned, angry that he was a cripple, angry that he could not just take what he wanted; her. Damn Eira for being the goddess that she was. He watched as she looked at him with her beautiful anger written all over her face, but then she opened her irritating mouth. "Sorry to ruin your plans for the evening," she sneered sarcastically. Ivar growled at her, and whispered darkly,"Then you should fix that which you have broken, Elskan mìn."  
Eira growled back at Ivar, knowing she would not go find someone else for him to bed. She could not stand the idea of his hands running along someone else's body, his mouth on someone else's breasts. There was only one way to fix it, and Eira realized she was drunk enough to blame the mead if he regretted his words the next morning. His condescending endearment only made her more willing, and wet, ready to fuck him next to the fire with everyone watching if it meant she would finally get to taste his cock, to bite that muscle between his neck and shoulder. She slowly stood up and moved over to him, bending down to put her mouth next to his ear. "Follow me then, Cripple. We will see if you can handle my solution." She turned around and moved away, determined to make it to her tent, whether he followed or not.  
Her hot breath on his neck and ear, combined with her deep and angry command, almost had him releasing his seed in his pants. He watched her as she walked away, powerful legs carrying her quickly in the direction of her tent. Crawling there was only going to make his cock harder, the rough pull towards the woman of his dreams a delicious torture. He pulled himself off of the log and in to the dirt, following her as a dog follows it's master.


	4. Fissures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smuuut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some terms I found via google:  
> buðlingr - prince  
> bruni - fire  
> dróttningr - queen  
> dýr - beast, animal  
> hiti - fire  
> lìtt - little  
> móðr - fury, wrath  
> vigamaðr - fighter

Eira opened the flap of her tent, her heart racing. She did not know if Ivar was following her. She couldn't bring herself to look, afraid she would not see his muscled shoulders pulling him towards what she offered. She paced around her bed, suddenly unable to breath. She had taken a step she never thought she would; and there was no going back now. Her only saving grace was that she had imbibed so much mead that it could be used as an excuse. The pounding in her chest, and her fear at being rejected by someone she secretly loved, had sobered her completely. Looking around her tent, Eira spotted a new pitcher that someone had left, along with an empty cup. Eira raced to the table and shakily filled the cup to the brim. She downed it in one gulp, and refilled it immediately. She had drank more tonight than in the past few months combined, and still she wanted more. She drank half of the golden liquid, feeling it begin to calm her nerves and erase her insecurity. If he did not show up, then it was his loss. He was too smart to be blind to her strength, and though she did not consider herself as beautiful as some of other women around her, she knew she was pleasant to look at. Eira unlaced her shirt, pulling it open wider so it was loose around her breasts. She pulled her bindings off; they had become a necessity as she grew from a girl to a woman, keeping them close and taut to help her keep her balance better. Rubbing her neck, Eira froze as she heard the unmistakable dragging sound of Ivar. He had followed her.

Ivar dragged his body through the dirt for her, mind racing, hoping that she was the one in her tent, and not some slave. A part of him could not believe that she was interested in him in that way, his useless legs surely disgusted her. He was looking down at the ground, afraid to look up and see someone that was not Eira. As he entered the tent, he crawled immediately towards the chair in the corner, and pulled himself up on it. He continued to look at the ground, frozen, as a pair of large feet made their way in to his line of sight. He looked up, his eyes slowly grazing the form before him, and he knew it was her. From her slim, boot covered ankles, up her larger calves, to her thick thighs and wide hips. His eyes traveled up her body, eyeing her small waist and large breasts. He saw her shirt was partially open and he almost drooled at the uncovered, unbound flesh. He had not seen her without her bindings, and he could not have imagined anything more arousing in his life. Her breasts would easily spill out of his hands, but they were firm and lifted from all of her training. As his eyes reached her face, his mouth had fallen open, and her mask of irritation did him in. As long as he lived, he would never love another the way he loved her. His heart ached, and he hated the feeling running through him. He would do anything for her, though there was not much that she could not do for herself. He knew he must handle this situation carefully, so he was not lost completely. He smirked at her, saying,"Where is this solution, woman?" and then held his breath waiting for her response. 

Eira walked over to the chair that Ivar had settled in. Most of her fear was dispelled the moment he had moved through the flaps. Her only concern now was how much to show him. Should she show him her darkest desires? Would he be able to handle them, handle her, the way she needed? There was only one way to know in her current state of desire. She felt a warmth all over that rivaled the effect of her drink, and saw that Ivar was eyeing her as a starving man does a feast. As his eyes made their way up her body, she squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips, waiting for him to get to her face. She challenged him, wordlessly, to say something about her form, and when he opened his mouth to ask about her solution to his problem, she cracked an evil smile. Eira had a plan in mind, a punishment for even considering bedding the slave. She said,"You will listen. You followed me in here, why? Do not answer. You know why, and I know why. But you made a mistake in wanting someone before choosing me, and you will recieve punishment for making me wait so long for you, Boneless." Eira walked to her bed and sat down, removing her boots and pants. She threw them across her tent, after grabbing her knife from her boots. She stood up, and motioned to Ivar with a nod, expecting him to understand her command. 

Ivar was delirious. The woman he had wanted for years was finally be at his mercy. She did not detail what they were going to be doing, but he had his own ideas. His cock was throbbing at the idea of what he was going to do to her, how he was going to please her, and himself, until she spoke. When she spoke to him, voice full of strength and power, commanding him to listen and do as she told, he almost finished in his pants, for the second time that night. This would not do, as he did not want her to think him some untried boy. He fixed her with a glare as she moved away, intent on showing her who should really be giving the commands. He watched as she removed the bottom half of her clothing, grabbing a knife before throwing them aside. He began to salivate at the sight of her, half-naked, holding a weapon. She nodded at him to join her across the tent, and he began to move almost immediately before he caught himself. He removed the braces on his legs, grabbed his own boot knife, and sat back in his chair, determined to be the one controlling this encounter. He thought back on what she said about making her wait so long, and was confused. He hadn't taken that long to get to her tent after she had told him to follow her, and asked,"You only had to wait a few moments for me to reach your tent, dróttning móðr, and I can promise you it will be worth it." 

Eira snickered rudely. The poor prince thought he was going to be the one controlling this, when he could not even figure out that she meant to punish him for taking years to finally bed her. She decided to clue him in, knowing that looking stupid would give her the chink in his armor that she needed to control him this night. His attempt to command her had her questioning whether she wanted to submit to him or break him. His low voice and lustful gaze while pulling out his own knife had her envisioning being on her knees before his cock. She regained her senses and decided to press her advantage. He had not earned the right to command her; prince or no. "My wait for you on this night was not long, but we will soon see if you are worth it. However, the wait I was speaking of has been one made up of years, ever since the first time I saw you take a saxon life. Now, do as your master commands, cripple. Or I may not see fit to comfort you after your punishment." She licked her lips as he began to move, setting his body in the dirt and crawling to her feet, while holding her gaze defiantly. It would take a while to train him for this night, and Eira couldn't wait. 

Ivar listened, incredulous, as Eira detailed how long she had wanted him. Surely she did not love him as he loved her, but he would please her tonight; he could learn to control her fire later. He dropped to the ground, watching her the entire time he crawled to her feet. It was a new sensation for him, this feeling of giving someone else control, and he found he could not give it completely. He eyed her as he stopped moving, challenging her with a look. He could not think of what punishment she may be talking about, but he was intrigued. He kept watching as she backed up, and sat on the bed. She kept her legs closed, denying him the view he craved from this position. Neither said anything, and he was content to devour her body with his eyes while he waited for her to speak. When he looked back at her face, he could see that he had displeased her, and he began to get angry. "Out of ideas, little one? Not to worry, I can show you what to do." He said, forcing a condescending tone in to his voice, knowing it would spur her to action. He was not disappointed as she lifted one long leg to place a foot on his chest when he began to move forward. He had to smile; he had been afraid she would turn in to a nervous virgin, and instead she was driving him wild. She had lifted her head at the same moment she lifted her leg, and wore the look of a queen on her face, staring down at him as if he was a worthless slave. He moved his eyes down to see she had spread her legs apart slightly as well, and he could see her glistening core, lips bright pink and swollen, dripping with lust. His cock, currently pressed against the ground, demanded friction, and he began to move his hips against the dirt.

Eira knew that Ivar would take teaching, and she could almost laugh at how innocent he seemed to think she was. She wondered if he thought her a virgin, and in that moment decided that she would not bend to his will this night. She placed the ball of her foot against his chest when he started to move, a look of haughtiness in place. She spread her legs slightly to allow him to see what he could not yet touch, and laughed softly as he began to grind his hips in to the ground. The tingle from her forgotten drink was replaced with a heady rush of power, and she tilted her head to the side, licking her lips as she gave him his next command. "Poor little cripple, reduced to fucking the floor because he has no control. You will come to me, and cut my shirt open. I do not feel like taking it off myself. Can you handle that, minn lìtt dýr?" She was playing with him, and had not had this much fun, or been this needy, in a long time. "I am not a patient master, Ivar." She marveled at him as his piercing blue eyes filled with lust, and he pulled himself towards her, perching on the bed as he flicked his wrist and began slicing her shirt open. When he was finished, he slammed the blade of his knife in to the wooden foot of her bed, and placed his hand on her stomach, covering it almost completely. She allowed him this short reward for obeying her, letting him move his hand towards her breasts as she watched his face. He dropped his eyes to move the fabric aside, swallowing as he ran his palm across her nipples, one at a time. She felt his prick twitch against her thigh; so close to where she wanted it buried. But she would restrain herself until he learned to obey her completely. Eira shifted and whispered," That is enough, dýr." He pushed himself closer to her, not listening to what she was saying, and Eira sighed in feigned disappointment.

Ivar had never felt his cock this hard. His blood was pounding in his ears, and all he wanted was to put his mouth all over her as he buried his cock as deep as it would go in her hot center. He had his hands on her breasts and was about to push her down on the bed and rip his pants to shreds, until he felt cold steel on his neck. She had spoken a command, and in his lust he was not paying attention. But the mistake on her part was thinking that the pain from the cut would stop him, instead of driving his lust even higher. She held the edge against him, and he looked up at her, leaning in to the weapon she held. He felt the sting of his new injury, and he was beyond happy that she had been the one to mark him so. Her eyes widened as he continued pushing forward; she was forced to lean back on one elbow so she didn't cut him too deeply. He was out of control, not even wondering if this display of his would frighten her. He grabbed his knife from the bed frame, and, hovering over her almost prone form, pushed his bulge against her core, while placing his own knife against her chest and drawing it from one side to the other. She dropped her knife to the bed as he bent his head to lick up the blood from her cut, and she threw her head back, letting a long, low moan escape as he moved his tongue from one side of the cut to the other. He did not swallow the blood, and instead swiped it across his teeth. He set his knife down and wiped his fingers across his own cut, spreading his blood across her lips. She looked at him with eyes ablaze, mouth open, panting, and he could see the indecision cross her face. He slowly pressed his hips harder against hers, needing pressure and friction.

Eira was completely overtaken by lust and love as she watched Ivar lean forward, cutting himself on her knife. She moved back as he kept coming towards her, and she lost all urge to control him when she saw his hand reach for his knife. He cut her across the chest, and she lost all thoughts in her head when she felt his tongue on her bare, bloody skin. She had hoped for this, dreamed of it, but never thought she would be so lucky to find her match, who wanted this type of bedding as much as she did. She dropped her knife, as a signal of submission, and moaned as he wiped his bloody fingers across her mouth. She placed her hands on his chest, and ran them down his sides. Lifting her legs, she placed her feet where she wanted them, and pushed. She had flipped him on his back, and smiled at him when she heard him laughing. She automatically knelt before him, awaiting his command as she had always wished for. 

Ivar tensed when Eira placed her feet against him. She flipped him over and he marveled at her strength and audacity. He, a Prince, had just been thrown by a single shield maiden. He laid on his back for a moment, laughing, and then he sat up to see her on her knees, face down, presumably waiting to be told what to do. Ivar smiled as all the blood left his face and collected in his groin. He decided that some revenge was in order, and told her,"Look at me." She lifted her head and met his eyes, looking more innocent than he thought she could. His blood still covered her lips, and he felt the air leave his lungs in a rush. He could smell her lust from where he was, and said,"Take your knife and remove my pants." She took her knife from the bed and cut the ties around his waist, pulling his pants down as he lifted his body to make it easier for her. His cock sprang free, already dripping, and she licked her lips at the sight. He ran the tip of his knife gently over his stomach, and in one move cut the fabric all the way up to his neck. He motioned for her to move up to him, and she moved up with a swiftness he had never seen from her, with her eyes still on his prick. He placed his hand behind her head, softly caressing her, but when she looked up at him, he swiftly yanked the long tail back and leaned in, saying,"I did not tell you to take your eyes off of my cock, Minn hiti." She obediently dropped her eyes back down. He kept his grip on her hair, and pushed her head to one of his nipples. She licked at his nipple, pulling it in to her mouth and softly biting it, then licking again. Ivar closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation, before pushing her head lower, feeling her nipping and sucking on his flesh. 

Eira was in a mindset she had never experienced before. She had tested his boundaries, and found, not surprisingly, that he was a capable master. When he pulled her hair, she had to fight not to moan, knowing that her lack of control would displease him. When he gave his next command, she obeyed, mouthing his nipple like she would want him to do. She felt a pressure on her head and moved down his body, leaving a trail of marks on his smooth skin. She was afraid he would stop her before she could taste his cock, but he continued slowly pushing her towards it. He stopped her when her lips reached his swollen head, and she stuck out her pink tongue to lap away the salty liquid rivulets. She heard him growl like an animal, before he said,"Open." She willingly opened her mouth, her breath softly rushing over him. He shoved her head down until he hit the back of her throat, and she feigned swallowing to provide pressure and sensation to his cock. She stilled, and had to suppress a chuckle as he moved her head up and down while whispering all manner of curses. She knew he would finish soon, and hoped that she had behaved well enough to ride him to their completion. He pulled her hair again, and she lifted her mouth off of him, releasing him with a pop. Her lips were swollen as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her, tasting himself on her tongue. She could taste her blood in his mouth, and her inner walls clenched at the thought. He pulled out of the kiss and stared at her with lust; but there was another emotion she could not decipher. 

Ivar had almost lost himself in her throat. Knowing he controlled such a strong woman had given him a high he had rarely experienced outside of killing, and he could not get enough. She had unleashed a mighty beast in him, and there was no reigning it in now. He pulled her up for a kiss and could have cried at the taste of her essence, and his, mixed together. He let her lips go, and looked at her face, seeing a strength in her that came from submitting without breaking. He had loved her so fiercely, for so long, but he never imagined she would be this perfect for him, in so many ways. As he looked at her swollen, blood-covered lips, he could not hide his feelings for her any longer. He saw her confusion, and decided to distract her before she made the mistake of speaking. He was still her master, for now, and said,"Now, my little virgin, this is the time to ask for what you want." Eira slipped when she cocked an eyebrow at his statement; but he would punish her for it next time. He half-smiled when he heard her voice, soft and meek now, ask,"May I sit on your cock, buðlingr?" Ivar was past the point of ready, and almost shouted his reply. "NOW." She gracefully stood, placing her knees on either side of him, and lined him up with her entrance. She looked up at him when he placed his hands on her ass, and teased the tip of him with her wetness, sliding him back and forth along her folds. He smacked her ass in reprimand, and watched as a flush spread across her nose and cheeks. She smiled wickedly at him, before slamming her body down, taking all of his length in one strong move. He shot his head back as she began to ride him, and he slid his hands up her stomach to caress her breasts as they swayed with her movement. He reached up to her arms, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, HIS marks, and pulled her down face to face with him. He ran his hands back down to her ass, removing one to lick a finger while he stared at her. He placed it against her tight ass, and pressed in, moving it back and forth slightly as she closed her eyes and moaned. 

Eira's suspicion was confirmed when he called her a virgin, and she raised an eyebrow at the thought. But she held that thought off as she knelt over him, sliding him back and forth over her dripping cunt. She refrained from dropping on him until he smacked her ass. She felt the color enter her cheeks, and obeyed him again. She had every intention of behaving, until she felt his hands go from her tits to her ass. She stared at him, entranced, as he swirled his tongue around his finger, and put the tip of it in her ass. She hadn't even known that she would like that, and it almost brought her over the edge. She was face to face with him, and licked his opened lips, before leaning to his ear and saying,"You are not the first to find pleasure with me, minn lìtt dýr. And you may not be the last, if you do not fuck me, NOW." 

Ivar had thought that it could not get better than it was, commanding her and controlling her. She had traced his mouth with her warm tongue, and leaned next to his ear, breathing heavily on it as she bounced up and down with both of her holes squeezing him. But then she whispered her threat in his ear, and he lost all control of his mind and body. He removed his finger from what he now considered his, and gripped her hips, raising her off of him slightly. She put her knife to her own breast as he pounded in to her, cutting herself again. He was at the edge, and she kicked him over it when she put her blood-covered fingers in his mouth and commanded him to suck, as they both moved as one. She moaned at the feel of his wet lips and he felt her inner walls contract; he nearly passed out from the strength of it. He came harder than he had ever come before, so hard that he stopped breathing, lost in his own orgasm. He started speaking, not even knowing what he was saying, as she held him to her large breasts, with his arms wrapped around her waist. He could cease to exist at this moment and he might not even notice. 

Eira held Ivar to her chest, near her heart, as they climaxed together. Her blood pounding in her ears as her pleasure spread throughout every inch of her body. She seemed to come down quicker than he did, as she realized he was speaking. She listened as he groaned, smiling until she heard him say,"...no one but you, minn dróttning, minn bruti, minn hiti, minn lìtt vigamaðr. Oh, how I have loved you." Eira stared down at him, waiting for him to realize what he had said, what he had called her. She waited for him to deny it, but he kept his head against her chest. She began to wonder if he even knew that he had been speaking, until she noticed his breathing had returned to normal, and he said,"I love you Eira. I have loved you since the first time you called me Cripple, without fear, and smirked at me, covered in blood." She felt a chill run through her body, sitting there silently, his softening cock still buried in her. His voice rang out once more,questioning,"Eira?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loooove comments, if theyre constructive lol


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and floofy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dróttning - queen  
> skapraun - annoying, annoyance

Eira slid off of Ivar, and walked over and grabbed the pitcher, drinking directly from it. She felt it spill down her naked, flushed body. She was going to turn in to a drunk if she kept this up. She had moved away from him when he had said her name, wondering if their gods could be so kind, or if this was a trick being played on her by Loki himself. She turned, meeting his eyes, searching for the truth. What she saw had her second guessing her instinct to separate from him.

Ivar was hurt. He had just told Eira he loved her, had loved her for years, and her response was to leave him, cock still covered in their mixed lust. He watched her, his eyes hardening with every step that took her further from him. He grabbed for his knife, and let it sail through the air just as she turned, sinking in to one of the posts of her tent. She looked at the knife, then back at him, and her rage encompassed her entire body. She strode over to him, her fist connecting with his face. She screamed at him,"What the fuck was that for, Ivar?" He responded, yelling just as loudly,"What is wrong with you??" She had the decency to duck her head, but what surprised him more, was that she admitted something he never thought he'd hear from her; she was scared. He sat there, as she told him how she had loved him as well, not just desired him but loved him, for years. How she thought she was not worthy enough for a Prince of Kattegat, or else she would have pursued him earlier. He kept the angry look on his face as she looked up at him. He could not believe her stupidity. But, he thought to himself, he had thought nearly the same thing as she did. "We make a grand pair of idiots, Eira." Ivar shook his head, mentally kicking himself. "You mean to say we could have been doing this for years?" 

Eira chuckled at his question. She was disappointed in herself for being so afraid of pursuing what she wanted; him. Their heated coupling showed her how perfect of a match they were. She refused to give an inch to Ivar, and he would always press her for more. She looked up at him, seeing his beautiful face with his striking blue eyes. She punched him again for good measure, saying,"That is for not pursuing me." She smiled at him, lips still partially bloody, when he reached up and grabbed her hand. Eira began to half-heartedly struggle, guessing what was coming, as his hand smacked across her ass twice, leaving red handprints on each cheek. 'And that is for thinking you are less than what you are, dróttning skapraun.' She playfully smacked him when he called her that, and always would, no matter how affectionately he said it. 

They passed the rest of the night and well in to the next morning with each other. He had traced over her scars, already knowing how she had gotten each one, and she did the same for him. He had spent time taking care of her sore shoulder, while she had rubbed the knots from his legs. But Eira's favorite part was discovering just how well her prince could obey, once he knew that he would be well rewarded for it. They emerged from her tent together, covered in each other's marks. Smirking to one another, they saw the looks from the other warriors and from Ivar's brothers, proud to bear the love of each other in such a physical manifestation. Ivar had gone to eat with his brothers, and Eira followed. She had suffered from a moment of insecurity, and harshly shoved it away. If he was not concerned about showing her off in front of his brothers, she would not be. She was proud of having his love, and giving hers to him. She sat down next to Ivar, a smile covering her face. Sigurd began to speak to Hvitserk, mumbling in what he thought was a quiet voice,"I guess we know who is in charge in that tent," speaking of the small cuts she had made in a line down Ivar's neck, and the bruise she had given him to cover them. Eira grabbed one of her axes from her belt and threw it at the post that Sigurd was sitting next to. If she had been a hair to her left, it would have taken his nose off. She turned her eyes to Sigurd and lifted her head, knowing he would not retaliate. She knew he was afraid of her, and she reveled in it. 

Ivar wanted to take her right there on the table when he saw the predatory look on her face at Sigurd's comments. He did not care what his brother had to say, because he knew that Sigurd would run screaming from Eira's tent if she had wanted to bed him. Eira was strong. Too strong for someone like Sigurd. Ivar suddenly laughed, a sound full of happiness and joy, instead of his usual laugh of derision. He saw as his brothers looked at him, and when Eira aimed a questioning brow at him, he said,"Later, my valkyrie." She nodded, unfazed, and resumed shovelling food in her mouth. His woman could eat, and he appreciated that she was not afraid to display her hunger. 

Eira wondered what had made such a glorious sound emerge from her lover's throat, and she fell in love with him all over again when she saw how his eyes crinkled at the corners, and his blue irises almost glittered. Content to wait for his explanation as he had instructed, she began eating again, and finished her plate of meat and bread in but a few more moments. She finished her drink, and sat back while waiting for Ivar. He finished his meal shortly after she did, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She watched as he turned his head toward Sigurd, and smiled. But this grin was not like before. This one was full of anger and disdain. "You know what I think is funny, Eira?" She turned her head towards Sigurd, and said," What, Ivar?" He continued, saying," I was thinking of how jealous Sigurd must be, knowing that I can claim a such a fierce shield-maiden as my own, while he cannot. I imagine you would shove his oud up his ass if he tried to lay with you. But then again, he would probably enjoy that." Eira tried her best not to laugh, for Sigurd was still a prince of Kattegat, and she just a warrior. But she knew Ivar could see the look on her face for what it was, while Ubbe and Hvitserk laughed boisterously. Sigurd looked around at the other vikings that were enjoying the joke at his expense, and grabbed his cup of mead, mumbling to himself as he walked away. Eira reached under the table and placed a hand on Ivar's cock, causing it to twitch. "You will pay for that later, I suspect, but for now, we should return to my tent." She knew that she was going to be the one to submit this time, and couldn't wait for it any longer.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I know it was kind of long and all over the place and it didnt progress much but it took me like two hours to write this (not counting the dinner break i took to feed my five kids haha). I like it, and hope you all do as well. I hope to get better, im no writer, never thought of doing it before now, but im crossing my fingers that this is a hobby that i can enjoy, and others can too. HELPFUL tips will be welcomed with open arms and an open mind. I didnt do much research so there are probably terms in there that vikings didnt use.


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